


The Problem with Purrfect

by DragonsDawn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Even if Bucky doesn't think so, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Stucky - Freeform, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, and a cat, poor attempt at humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7943653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsDawn/pseuds/DragonsDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a snowshoe,” Steve explained with a smile while letting the white and chocolate colored animal out.</p><p>“It’s a cat,” Bucky corrected. Steve had clearly never seen a snowshoe before. For one, they usually came in pairs. And were far more wooden and dead.</p><p>“That’s what the breed is called. Snowshoe.” He looked pretty proud of himself.</p><p>Instead of focusing too long on his happy face, Bucky turned his attention to the cat sniffing the carpet by Steve’s feet. If he remembered correctly, Steve had always wanted a pet, but his allergies had prevented it. So as not-thrilled as he was about all of it, he kept it to himself.</p><p>After all, how bad could one cat be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problem with Purrfect

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not 100% sure this is ready, but...I'm posting it anyway, I guess. I tried to write humor, but obviously I can't. So you get some angst instead.
> 
> This is rated Mature for Bucky's potty mouth. It is also unbeta'd so any mistakes therein are mine.
> 
> In case anyone's curious, this is [Sox](http://nextranks.com/data_images/cats/snowshoe-cat/snowshoe-cat-05.jpg).
> 
> Mousing over the Russian text should show the English translation (according to Google, so sorry in advance for any butchering).

 

Steve hanging out with Romanova - or whichever technically inaccurate version of her surname she went by - was not, in itself, a bad thing. Though Bucky was not thrilled at Steve spending any real amount of time somewhere else, he often came back in a brighter mood than when he left, making the separation a necessary evil. Besides petty jealousy, Bucky didn’t have any reason to dislike the arrangement. That was, of course, until Steve came to their shared apartment with an armload of pale blue plastic and a tiny carpet covered roll.

 

In a blur of words and waving hands, Steve managed to communicate that all of this was thanks to a brilliant idea Romanova had given him (the first sign he would not enjoy this, Bucky realized belatedly). Then, to answer the unasked question (which had been unasked for good reason. Romanova did not give Steve good ideas), Steve brought in a pet carrier. It meowed ominously.

 

“It’s a snowshoe,” Steve explained with a smile while letting the white and chocolate colored animal out.

 

“It’s a cat,” Bucky corrected. Steve had clearly never seen a snowshoe before. For one, they usually came in pairs. And were far more wooden and dead.

 

“That’s what the breed is called. Snowshoe.” He looked pretty proud of himself.

 

Instead of focusing too long on his happy face, Bucky turned his attention to the cat sniffing the carpet by Steve’s feet. If he remembered correctly, Steve had always wanted a pet, but his allergies had prevented it. So as not-thrilled as he was about all of it, he kept it to himself.

 

After all, how bad could one cat be?

 

After the initial introduction, Bucky had escaped to his room to mentally prepare for a third member to join the household. Resigned to feed the cat and empty the litter box every once in a while, he returned to the living room to find it transformed into a kitty palace (this was the second sign he would not enjoy this. Again, realized belatedly). Steve had already set up the ridiculous amount of cat crap he’d bought, which the cat avoided in favor of the plastic ring previously attached to a milk jug cap.

 

He actually kinda liked the cat.

 

 

-oOo-

 

He absolutely hated the cat.

 

The problem was it loved Steve. Which was natural and he couldn’t hold anything against it for that. But unlike the rest of the world, it had no intention of sharing him. Perhaps this wouldn’t have been such an issue if he himself had any intention of sharing Steve. As it was, he didn’t.

 

Unfortunately, another thing he had no intention of doing was revealing his desire to have Steve all to himself.

 

So, he was in a bit of a bind. If the cat wasn’t wallowing all over Steve and demanding his undivided attention (which he gave it 80% of the time) then it was sitting on his left side, preventing Bucky from doing so. Before the cat (named Sox, because Steve was terrible at naming things), he could sit flush to Steve’s left side and it wouldn’t necessarily mean anything. A casual misjudging of space, maybe. But now if he wanted to feel Steve’s grounding presence against his right side, he had to pick up the damn cat and more her/him. That was too direct.

 

In the end he had settled for looking longingly at one end of the couch and sitting on the other.

 

It wasn’t fun.

 

For a moment he considered letting the cat ‘accidentally’ get out, but that would break Steve’s heart so he immediately shot it down. No, he would tolerate the furball. But that did not mean he would just roll over in defeat.

 

He stared into the cat’s unblinking blue eyes and did his best to convey his feelings on the matter. _This means war_.

 

 

-oOo-

 

The cat apparently understood him fine, because he woke up being swatted in the face by said fur-demon. Before he could retaliate it bolted out of his room. He chased after it, cussing it out in a mash-up of every language he knew. Until he reached the kitchen to find Steve leaning on the counter in just his pajama bottoms with a cup of coffee. Staring at him with wide eyes.

 

Shit.

 

He’d slept naked the night before.

 

The kitchen wasn’t the best place to remember that tidbit of information.

 

Steve kept his gaze resolutely on Bucky’s face. “Were you calling Sox a piece of shit? I mean, that’s where it sounded like you were headed, but then you went…Chinese.”

 

Really? He was standing buck naked in the kitchen and Steve was shocked he had cursed at the cat? That was the least surprising thing he’d done all morning. “It hit me in the face.”

 

“So you were.” Steve shook his head and leaned down to pick up Bucky’s nemesis -- that’s what he was going to call it from now on. Nemesis -- before stroking its head. “Why’d you hit Bucky in the face? He probably didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

 

‘Probably.’ _Thanks, Steve_.

 

He glared at the ball of fur as it soaked up all of Steve’s affection. Oh, he hated that cat. For that reason alone he went to the fridge and took out the carton of milk. He shot the cat a look to make sure it was watching and drank what was left in the carton, ignoring Steve’s exasperated ‘Bucky…’ No. Steve did not get to ‘Bucky’ him. He was naked and angry and he was going to make sure that cat never saw a drop of milk ever. Then he got a brain freeze and the cat just stared at him and purred, like it had planned all this.

 

“So…” Steve shifted Nemesis in his arms and set his mug on the counter.

 

“What?” Bucky rubbed the bridge of his nose to try and ease the cold ache. Stupid cat.

 

“I was thinking about going for a walk. In the park?” Steve’s tone was cautious. Like he expected Bucky to flip his shit over it. It wasn’t like he never spent long periods alone in the apartment.

 

“Knock yourself out,” he grumbled, throwing the empty carton in the trash. He turned to leave, but noticed Steve’s crestfallen expression in his peripheral vision. But before he could even ask what the matter was, the cat butted it’s head against Steve’s chin. That one little action had him smiling again like everything was wonderful and nothing hurt.

 

Fucking cat.

 

Of course, this became the norm. Steve would go for a walk or a run, leaving Bucky alone with Nemesis for most of the day. Eventually they settled into this routine, despite Bucky’s best efforts to avoid it (which weren’t the best, since he always refused to leave the apartment -- don’t blame the victim). It was late this particular day with the sun beginning to set. It was a beautiful backdrop for the disdainful look Nemesis directed at him. As if it hadn’t torn holes in the curtains just that afternoon.

 

At the sound of footsteps approaching the door, the fur-demon bolted off the arm of the couch to greet Steve. Bucky hurried to his feet and followed. He wasn’t about to let the damn thing win by default.

 

“Hey!” Steve knelt to rub the cat’s head between his hands with the same motions one used to clean a potato. Then he noticed Bucky standing there and smiled in surprise. “Hey, Buck.”

 

“Uh, hey.” Great. He hadn’t really thought this through. For one, he never greeted Steve at the door. It must look weird. Or desperate. (It was both.) “How was…everything?” He wasn’t sure what you called Steve’s playdates with the other Avengers.

 

Probably not playdates.

 

“Oh, fine. Would have been more fun with you there.” Steve clearly didn’t know what ‘fun’ meant. But before Bucky could correct him, he stood and moved on to the living room. “What did you guys do while I was gone?”

 

He’d learned a couple days ago the honest answer (“Staring contest.”) was not a good idea. “Talked. I did. About the future.” It wasn’t a lie. Just a misleading truth. Since ‘I’m going to get those sticky-paper rat traps and spread them all over my floor to keep you out of my room’ was technically about the future. With his aversion to the general public, it was probably the very distant future, but the future nonetheless.

 

“Yeah? Talking about things is always good.” Steve had his stupid, goofy smile on at that. Like talking to a cat about your future made you anything other than crazy. “Any plans yet?”

 

Heh. “A few.”

 

“That’s good.” Steve flopped on the couch and removed his shoes and jacket. Nemesis promptly jumped up beside him and curled against his left hip. “Anything you’d like to share?”

 

Hell no. “Uh, just trying to get myself up for going outside. Take a little shopping trip or something.”

 

“That’s great.” Steve seemed to genuinely think so, his smile making Bucky feel just a little warmer inside. Then he looked down at Nemesis and scratched behind its ears. “I bet you’re a really good listener. Helping Bucky out, hmm?”

 

That little bit of warmth turned into a bonfire under his skin. He flopped down on the far end of the couch and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Steve got up at the same moment to feed the cat and (luckily for him -- or maybe everybody) didn’t return until Bucky had cooled down a little.

 

“What happened to the curtains?” Steve stared at the damaged fabric, a pencil in one hand and a notebook in the other.

 

“Cat.” What else could have happened? It looked like a little mouse mobster had done a drive-by with the light streaming in through the tiny holes. Then it registered in his brain Steve was going to sketch. A perfect opportunity for him to get closer. Steve was always happy to show off his newest work to Bucky and that had always gotten them side by side before. He slid over, but with just a foot to go Nemesis jumped back onto the couch and curled up in its usual place. Against Steve’s left side.

 

Fucking. Cat.

 

Bucky settled back in the cushions and had to suppress a growl. Steve was completely oblivious, folding his legs up to rest his notebook against his thighs and stroking the cat with his left hand. It purred quietly, looking at Bucky with a smug expression. He glared at it and curled up on his end of the couch. He soon got distracted, however, by watching Steve’s hand move fluidly from the cat’s head to its tail.

 

It was kinda pathetic how much he wanted to be in the cat’s place.

 

It would be nice to have Steve’s hand stroking his hair like that. Or down his arm or his back. Or…well…He shifted to stare at the coffee table and imagined all the different ways he could kill someone with it.

 

He was vaguely aware of the sounds Steve made while sketching. The scratch of the pencil on paper, the little hums ever once in a while, and the occasional murmur to himself. It was something that helped Bucky relax just a little. A white noise that felt comfortable and familiar. After he had gone through about twenty scenarios involving death-by-coffee-table he felt the cat’s weight on his leg. Two tiny points of pressure where its ridiculously small paws bore down on him. He looked down to find it staring up at him and stretching its neck to sniff his face.

 

He stroked the cat’s head. “Это не перемирие,” he whispered.

 

“Hmm?” Steve hummed distractedly, still mostly engrossed in his work.

 

“Nothing.” He wasn’t about to own up to the fact he was fighting a cat for Steve’s attention.

 

 

-oOo-

 

Bucky had spent the night either tossing in bed at the whim of a nightmare or cussing at the cat for hooking him through the sheets. She (Steve had referred to Nemesis/Sox as a ‘she’) seemed to think his thrashing in distress from his dreams was an invitation to claw the fucking shit out of him. This he did not appreciate. So when the clock read 5:32 AM he judged it late enough to warrant getting out of the torture slab that was his bed.

 

He was tired and he didn’t really feel up to struggling into a pair of anything (and it wasn’t like Steve had complained the last time he’d walked around naked), so he stumbled into the kitchen without bothering to get dressed. Steve was in there already, like usual, bent over yesterday’s newspaper. He had a forgotten cup of coffee sitting next to his arm.

 

“Morning.”

 

Bucky grunted in reply and searched for something to eat, ignoring the petulant meows at his feet. His only real option seemed to be cereal. Just as well. This seemed to be the only type of battle he could win against the damn cat: who got the milk. She wailed, staring up at him with her mouth open and showing all her sharp little teeth. _Yeah, suck it up, cat. We don’t always get what we want_.

 

“Guess I should feed her.” Steve got up, glanced at him, paused for a moment, then fetched a can from the cabinet and proceeded to ignore the blatant nudity in front of him. It was kind of irritating. “You’re not usually up this early. Did you have trouble sleeping?”

 

He grumbled around a mouth full of cereal and searched for a mug. He felt half-brain dead and nothing but coffee would fix that. Bless Steve for his love of paint-stripper-strong coffee. He remembered the first – and only – time the Howling Commandos had insisted it was Steve’s turn to make the stuff. They’d certainly lived up to their name that morning. He smiled at the memory of Jim cussing Steve out for ruining the only luxury they had for that mission.

 

Then Steve appeared beside him to rinse out the cat food can and Bucky could feel the heat from his body. It had been nearly a month since he’d last touched Steve. It wasn’t fair, really. How Steve could go through life not needing anything more than to pet a cat three hours a day. Bucky, on the other hand, needed physical contact with another human being. Unfortunately, he was also terrified of it because nine touches out of ten had left bruises. It didn’t even matter that he knew Steve wouldn’t hurt him. The invisible chains still kept him firmly rooted in place.

 

Not to mention the voice in the back of his head that constantly reminded him Steve Rogers would rather bob for apples in a used latrine than touch him.

 

“You okay?” Steve leaned forward to better see his face. “What’s goin’ on?”

 

Shit. Stupid face. Why did he have to emote? “Nothing.” Buy it, buy it, buy it…

 

“Bucky…”

 

Not buying it. Bastard. “What makes you think something’s wrong?” He took a bite of his soggy cereal and refused to grimace. Instead of finishing it, he pushed it away as slyly as possible.

 

“Well, for one thing, you went really still and quiet. For another, you’re not finishing your cereal.”

 

“It’s progress!” He made a vague motion to the bowl with more dramatic flair than necessary. “Weren’t you the one who was worried because I ate everything put in front of me? Even the burnt shitty stuff you knew I hated?” He talked just a little too fast to be okay. Abort. Abort! “I’m not going to argue with you over my eating habits, all right? I’m going back to bed.” He turned and fled back to his room, ignoring Steve calling after him.

 

Except when he returned to his room the bed looked about as inviting as an Iron Maiden. He took the covers and made himself a comfy little nest in the closet. Once settled, he leaned back against the wall and stared out between the slats in the door. Strange how he felt safer in there than the bed. It wasn’t much bigger than one of his old cryo chambers.

 

Eventually hunger drove him to come out of the closet (wasn’t that a little ironic) and dress himself, because like it or not, he was an adult. He wandered into the living room to find Steve in his usual place with Nemesis curled up beside him. Before he could even think of slipping by, Steve and Nemesis both turned their heads to look at him.

 

“Hey,” Steve greeted quietly. Bucky hated that. It wasn’t like he was some horse that would easily spook. “Did you get any sleep?”

 

He shook his head, half wanting to be a pain in the ass just because Steve expected it of him. But then, that attitude was probably one of the reasons Steve expected it of him. “I’m hungry.”

 

Steve smiled a little at that. “Well, I ate your cereal, so…”

 

…Had he used the same spoon? That would be like second-hand kissing, right?

 

He was okay with that. “Make me toast.”

 

With the way he bolted up from the couch and rushed to the kitchen one would think Steve was connected to the toaster by his nipples. Forcing that image out of his head, Bucky sat on his side of the couch and was immediately accosted by the cat. Her breath smelled like fish and she made sure he knew it. He pulled her against his chest and ruffled up her fur a little rougher than was necessary. “Я ненавижу тебя,” he whispered against her back as she meowed in protest but made no move to escape. “Я ненавижу тебя.”

 

-oOo-

 

This had gone on long enough. The score was currently: Cat – 432 Bucky – -1. Unacceptable. He wasn’t an expert, but it seemed pretty unhealthy to him that all his fantasies (sexual and non-sexual alike) began by chucking the damn cat off Steve’s lap. The only problem was he had no idea how to put an end to this war, short of surrendering (that was not going to happen). Since killing his enemy was not an option, he’d have to figure out some other way of securing Steve’s attention.

 

He didn’t see himself becoming a more appealing cuddle companion and he couldn’t make Nemesis a less appealing one. Not without pissing off Steve, at any rate. That would be counter-productive. He was deep in thought, trying to cook up a strategy, when the doorbell rang. Steve wasn’t in at the moment, so Bucky decided to ignore it. He didn’t like answering the door period and definitely didn’t want visitors when he was the only one they’d interact with.

 

But it kept ringing for five minutes and frankly, it was annoying as hell. He finally gave up waiting them out and stalked to the door. Everybody knew Steve got up at it’s-too-fucking-early o’clock to go for his runs and often didn’t come back until damn near noon. It was only a little after nine. He nearly ripped the door off its hinges in his haste to open it and make whoever it was _stop ringing the fucking doorbell_.

 

Romanova tilted her head to one side and slowly lowered her hand from the button. “Pretty sure that’s your murder face, Barnes.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Well, to be let in would be a good start. Or I could just play with this…” She started to reach for the doorbell and he quickly stepped aside to allow her entry. She slipped in, looking smugly pleased. It was a look he’d seen plenty already. Should have named the fucking cat Natalia.

 

She poked around, looking high and low, with her hands clasped behind her back. “So…Steve said you haven’t taken so well to the cat. Do you not like animals?” She looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. “You really liked Lucky when Clint brought him to the tower. More of a dog guy? Guess I’ll have to talk Steve into getting you a puppy. Bet you’d like—”

 

“Not in a million years, Romanova.” There were a thousand things he needed. Another furry asshole to compete with was not one of them. She smirked knowingly at him. Wait…He narrowed his eyes, earning a shark-like grin.

 

Oh.

 

 _Oh_.

 

She did this on purpose.

 

“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

 

“You know, animals can be very therapeutic.” She ventured into the living room and her face broke into a huge grin when she found Nemesis sitting regally on the arm of the couch. “Oh, what a beautiful cat. No wonder Steve is _always_ cuddling you.”

 

She definitely knew. “What the hell do you want?”

 

She picked up the cat and turned back to face him. He felt a grim satisfaction knowing Nemesis was going to shed all over Romanova’s black jacket. “Well, since we’re being so civil, I want you to get your head out of your ass. Really, Barnes. Steve has gone above and beyond the call of duty here. When are you going to put him out of his poor, oblivious misery?” She went to him and flicked his chin. “You should shave. And cut your hair.”

 

“What for?”

 

“You look like a bum, for one thing. I don’t know how you old folks did it, but nowadays, you gotta put a little effort into your appearance if you want to seduce someone.”

 

Oh no. He was not having this conversation with _Romanova_. “We’re just friends.”

 

She genuinely struggled to stifle her laugh. “Oh really?”

 

“Yes. He’s not interested.” Bucky knew that implied he was, but he wasn’t stupid enough to try denying it. She’d clearly figured him out already. Enough to plot against him and destroy his life, at least. To his surprise the smile dropped from her face and was replaced by a searching look. “What?”

 

“Must be a generation thing.” She shook her head and handed him the cat. “Listen, okay? I’ll be honest. I don’t really care what happens to you, since the most endearing thing you’ve ever done for me was shoot me. Twice. But I do care about Steve. And you make him happy. You tried to kill him—” she ignored the way he flinched at her words and continued, “—and he just came right back for you. No hesitation. No second thoughts whatsoever. I don’t think there’s anything you can do that will drive him away or make him think less of you. So stop deciding for him what he does and doesn’t want. Ask him. He might surprise you.”

 

With that she was gone, letting herself out and leaving him standing in the living room with the cat purring in his ear.

 

-oOo-

 

Ask him. Ask him what? What he wanted? That was way too vague. Whether or not he’d be willing to enter into a not-quite-a-relationship with his male-best-friend-turned-brainwashed-assassin-turned-total-fucking-mess? That was way too specific. He had spent nearly three days working it over in his mind and was no closer to figuring out a course of action. In those three days Steve got called on a mission. He also got his ass handed to him for the greater good, as-per-fucking-usual.

 

Bucky was not allowed on missions. (This wouldn’t be a problem if Steve wasn’t a self-sacrificing, risk-taking SOB.) In fact, contrary to popular belief, Bucky disliked using violence. Not because it bothered him (the fact it didn’t was actually more concerning), but because Steve didn’t like him using violence. Or being exposed to violence. Never mind that Steve would happily chuck an armed grenade into the pants of any HYDRA operative he came across.

 

No. Violence was out of the question. They didn’t even have a TV so he could tune in to see what was happening. And the computer started magically getting new passwords before every mission ever since ‘the Chicago incident’ where he had crashed the Avenger’s ‘party’ (there had been a lot of blood and cussing involved). Nobody wanted to explain to the Winter Soldier why Steve was not being protected ‘adequately’ (i.e. at all). So he was not allowed to see them in action. He only got to see the aftermath. Which looked pretty fucking awful.

 

On the third day of Steve’s absence, Bucky stumbled into the kitchen after a nightmare-riddled nap and nearly jumped out of his skin at the figure sitting on the island counter. He had his knife in his hand in an instant only to recognize the dumb ass was Agent Barton (or was it just Barton now?).

 

The other man stared at him with raised eyebrows and stopped scratching Nemesis under the chin. “You keep a knife in your pajamas?”

 

“They’re not pajamas.” Or maybe they were. He’d just grabbed comfy pants at random from Steve’s drawer.

 

“Right. Are you going to keep pointing that at me?” When Bucky didn’t move, Barton nodded and slid off the counter. “Okay, well, I was going to wake you, but you were mumbling about killing someone and I couldn’t find a really long poking stick—”

 

“Why are you here?” The bird man had obviously let himself in, which the Avengers team members never did. Unless… “Is Steve okay?”

 

Barton took way too long thinking about it, so Bucky hastily put the knife back and got his jacket and gloves. “Take me to him.”

 

After a half-assed insistence on shoes, which went unheeded, Barton reluctantly took him to the base. ‘Hawkeye’ might as well have been called Tortoise Toe with how slow he walked through the building. Unfortunately, Bucky didn’t know where Steve was, so he was forced to follow at his pace. “What room is he in?”

 

“He’s in medical,” Barton answered with the audacity to act like Bucky was the annoying one.

 

 _Fuck this_. He hurried ahead, looking in the small windows of the doors as he passed. It was a waste of time in the end. It was the voices he recognized as Romanova and Steve that helped him locate them. The door was slightly ajar but Steve’s serious tone kept him from bursting through it.

 

“--and someone had to do it. You all have others to think about. Wives, husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends, someone who’d be devastated by losing you…I don’t. So yeah, when it’s a split second decision, I choose me.”

 

Bucky took a couple steps back and tried to rein in the emotions Steve’s words brought forward. There were so many rushing through him, but anger and hurt were definitely there. Obviously Steve had done something stupid and hurt himself because (apparently) _nobody_ cared about him.

 

“I hate you both,” Romanova grumbled and the door swung open. She appeared and gave a nearly indiscernible pause before looking back in the room. “Clint’s back with Barnes.” She turned and shot a ‘what the hell?’ look to someone behind Bucky.

 

“He insisted.” Barton’s tone was part explanation, part self-defense. Another look and Barton went to her side. “What was I supposed to do? Shoot him in the foot?”

 

Bucky wasn’t in the mood for any of this shit. “I’m going home.” He turned on his heel and stormed down the hall with his arms wrapped tight around himself. So Steve didn’t think he cared? Was that it? And here he’d been worried he’d give himself away. Nope. He was so fucking opaque Steve didn’t think he cared at all. Amazing. Perfect. Just what he needed to top off a totally shit month.

 

The walk back to the apartment was long (despite the shortcut he took) and a little painful on account of his lack of shoes. At least pedestrians gave him a wide berth. It made being among them a little less nerve-wracking. (Very little.) The sun had set hours ago by the time he pushed the door open. Most of the lights were off, but the ones in the living room were just dim. He tried to pass through without being seen but the image that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. Steve was laid out on the couch, barely awake, with Nemesis curled up on his chest.

 

That was the last fucking straw.

 

He grabbed the cat and pulled her off. She hooked her claws in Steve on the way, waking him up. Bucky chucked her over the back of the couch and climbed into Steve’s lap before taking one of the decorative couch pillows and beating him over the head with it.

 

“Bucky!” Steve’s arms went up to shield his face, but he made no other moves. “Bucky, what the hell? Where were you?”

 

“What does it matter? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. Not like we give a shit about each other.” He threw the pillow away and heard Nemesis scurrying to avoid it. His hands now free, he grabbed Steve’s wrists and pinned them to the arm of the couch. There were nasty purple blotches running up the inside of Steve's right arm. He didn't even want to imagine what they must have looked like back at the base. “Why the fuck should you care if I disappear for several hours? What the fuck difference does it make?! I’m nobody, apparently.”

 

Steve stared up at him with a complete lack of comprehension. It only pissed Bucky off further. He started to reach for the other pillow but Steve’s free hand went up.

 

“Wait, wait!” When his plea went unheeded he grabbed at Bucky’s arm to stop him. “Wait, Buck, wait a second. You’re not referring to what Natasha and I were talking about, are you?”

 

Bucky didn’t answer but stopped fighting Steve’s hold on his arm. Then Steve said his name in that pitying, patronizing tone and he jerked his arm free. “Fuck you, Rogers. Name one person on your stupid team who wouldn’t miss you.”

 

“It’s different with friends than it is with a partner.”

 

“So that suddenly makes suicide okay?” He grabbed the pillow and smacked Steve in the head with it. “So just because we’re not fucking I’m not gonna miss you?”

 

“That’s not what I meant!” Steve blocked the next blow the best he could. “Losing a friend and losing the person you were going to spend the rest of your life with is different.”

 

“I was going to spend the rest of my life with you!”

 

“But the _feeling_ is different. Bucky, be ration--”

 

“Not for me!” He got another whack in before his brain registered what he’d said. He froze mid-swing and stared into Steve’s stunned eyes. Had he just indirectly admitted his feelings? Maybe Steve wouldn’t notice?

 

“Bucky? What do you mean by--”

 

No. No, no, abort! Abort! He dropped the pillow and tried to flee but Steve caught hold of his thigh and he ended up crashing face-first into the coffee table.

 

He barely avoided murder scenario #9.

 

“Shit, Buck, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Steve hovered over him for a millisecond before rolling him over.

 

Bucky was not in the optimum mental state for this so he covered his face with his hands to hide. His left palm felt soothingly cool against his eyes and forehead and gave him some grounding before he felt Steve’s hands on his arms. He really only had one option left. “Go away.”

 

“Alright. As soon as you answer my question. What’d you mean just earlier?” Steve rubbed his hands up and down Bucky’s forearms, probably attempting to comfort him somehow.

 

But after a month of no contact it was pretty overwhelming and he whimpered. As soon as the sound escaped he tensed. “That wasn’t me.”

 

“Really, Buck? Because there’s just the three of us.”

 

“Go away,” he whined and wedged his knee into Steve’s stomach. He was practically trippin’ on the adrenaline in his system and he did _not_ want to deal with this. Steve didn’t take the hint pressing into his gut. Instead he slid his hands up to Bucky’s wrists and gently coaxed him into showing his face.

 

“Did what I say really piss you off that much?”

 

“No.” He really didn’t want to do this, but Steve was rubbing gentle circles into the insides of his wrists and looking down at him like he was precious and he was tired. So very tired. “I was mad at the cat too.”

 

“Sox? What’d she do?”

 

“She stole you.” He tried to pull his hands free, but Steve gripped on, not enough to bruise but not letting go either. “I haven’t been able to touch you in a fucking month, Steve. The only physical contact I’ve had was with the damn cat and most of that she was clawing me.”

 

Steve really looked upset at that. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“Because you love her. If you had to choose between me and the stupid cat, she’s the obvious choice.” Steve actually laughed a little at that, the bastard. “She’s cheaper to house, cheaper to feed, takes up less space--”

 

“Bucky, Bucky, seriously, come on.” He slid his hand up and brushed some of Bucky’s hair behind his ear and smiled a little. Speaking quieter, he continued, “Hey, you know I’d always choose you. If you really can’t stand living with the cat, I’ll give her to Natasha. It was her idea anyway.”

 

He stared up at Steve’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. He really didn’t seem upset at all. “Won’t you miss her?”

 

“Well, sure, but I got her mostly for you.” 

 

His ‘what the fuck’ reaction must have come through very clearly.

 

Steve offered something between a smile and a grimace. “Nat said a cat would be good for you. You know, something you could pet and talk to and take care of. Said it would start you on the road to having a purpose. Help with your self-image. It made sense when she said it.”

 

“You realize she hates me, right?”

 

“She does not hate you.” Steve sat back on his heels but instead of letting go of Bucky’s wrists, he brought his hands up and kissed his knuckles. “I do love you, Buck.” He smiled a little and cleared his throat. “In whatever way you love me.”

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes and flicked his chin with his metal finger. “That’s cheating.”

 

“Well…Maybe.” Steve’s smile grew a bit and he leaned down to press a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “It’s still a long road ahead. What you need right now is a friend.”

 

He sighed and closed his eyes. Of course Steve was right. He was way too fucked up still to have any relationship beyond that. “Can I at least get a kiss?”

 

Steve paused at the question before leaning down and pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips.

 

Bucky latched onto his shoulders and hauled him closer, earning a startled laugh from Steve. Aside from that one laugh, Steve kept his mouth resolutely closed, determined to keep it a grandma kiss. Finally Bucky gave up and flopped his head back against the coffee table top. “What do I have to do to be able to kiss you properly?”

 

Steve smiled and rubbed his arm. “We _both_ need to work on healthier habits. Communication and the like. Okay?”

 

“But that’ll take forever!”

 

“It’s what we gotta do.” Steve got to his feet and helped Bucky off the broken coffee table. Instead of letting go, he pulled him into a hug. “You mean too much to me. I don’t want to mess this up by being impatient. If we only get one shot, I want to make sure it’s the best shot we can make. You understand?”

 

He sighed in resignation and rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “I understand.”

 

At least they were touching again.

 

-oOo-

 

**_What the fuck, Barnes?_ **

 

For a moment, Bucky wasn’t sure what had brought the text on. Then he saw it was from Romanova and smiled. He had to switch hands to reply, because the stupid phone didn’t register the touch of his left thumb. At least Nemesis didn’t seem to mind being petted with it instead.

 

**_2 what r u referring? :)_ **

 

He liked using Internet shorthand. It drove Steve nuts.

 

**_Don’t use that smiley face with me. You talked Clint into buying a ferret._ **

 

**_Ur the one who stole Lucky_ **

 

**_I did no such thing._ **

 

“What's up, Buck?” Steve didn’t even look up from his notebook, too engrossed in whatever it was he had to draw. So engrossed, in fact, that when he shifted his bare feet in Bucky’s lap he nearly dislodged Nemesis. She made him regret it, if his small yelp was anything to go by.

 

“Romanova doesn’t approve of Barton’s pet choices.”

 

**_It’ll b good 4 u. Therapeutic and all that shit_ **

 

**_It smells like road kill._ **

 

He grinned and turned his phone off and tossed it onto the new coffee table. Nemesis was content to resume her petting and Bucky returned to the book he’d been reading before Romanova’s rude text. Maybe she’d think twice before deciding to force a pet into someone else’s life. But then again…

 

He cast a sideways glance at Steve and smiled. Her meddling had done him something of a favor. They had physical contact at least three times a day now. It was something Steve had put his considerable determination into. Hell, they touched more now than they had before Nemesis showed up. Bucky was even starting to voice his opinions about the lack of TV and Steve's horrible taste in drapes. 

 

They weren’t together, no. But they were on the same page for once.

 

You have to start somewhere. Might as well be here.

 

 

 


End file.
